This fabulous story about getting gangbanged is written and read by Ariadne Awakes. Note: everything that happens to the narrator is pre-planned and entirely consensual.

Each time I hear another pair of footsteps entering wherever it is that he’s handcuffed me, my heart skips another beat and my clit throbs. They don’t speak, but I can feel the air charged with their need, their smell, their lust.

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Recently someone emailed me a question that went a little something like this: “you’ve alluded to wanting a spitroast/gang bang before. But there are clubs in London where this happens every night! Why don’t you just go to one of those?!” It is not an uncommon question, and I suspect it’s one that quite a lot of horny, slutty women get asked, so I thought I’d have a crack at answering it. I don’t think everyone will feel the same way I do, but (with thanks to the person who asked the question) here’s why this pervy woman isn’t in sex clubs every night.

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This gorgeous piece in which someone’s friends help fuck a guy is written by Quinn Rhodes of OnQueerStreet.com – check out his website at that link. Content note for some consensual non-consent and CBT – cock-and-ball torture, not cognitive behavioural therapy.

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Now listen. I know that what I should be doing tonight is cheering on the England team, and I totally will be. But as we get ready for kickoff there are some people watching the match who can’t keep their brain from wandering to one specific fantasy. I say ‘some people’ because conversations with other horny fuckers confirms that I’m not the only one. There may be five of us, ten of us, or ten thousand of us, but make no mistake there are some of us: people who are thinking less about the score than we are about the changing rooms. Specifically, what it would be like to be the changing room slut.

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This fabulous post about watching her partner suck cock on New Year’s Eve is written and read by Joy As It Flies.

Their cock is a thing of beauty. Just the right length, the perfect thickness, wrapped in his fist and then, when he drops it, landing hard and heavy on the pale expanse of their belly. He lies on his front between their open legs, and as he lowers his head he closes his eyes. They’re rimmed in kohl, dark and wet and glittering with intent, and as he opens his mouth to lick their length his painted lashes flicker against his cheekbones.

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